


Coming and Going

by PenguinofProse



Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [19]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya - Time Jump, F/M, IDK I blame Zou, Magic sex bond, Post-Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya, Smut, Soulmates kind of, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy is surprised to find Clarke visiting him on the Ring. Time jump AU.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764070
Comments: 34
Kudos: 189





	Coming and Going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to a time jump! This rather unique prompt was from Zou, so shout out to her, and to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

Bellamy spends the first week after Praimfaya trying not to cry. He manages it, for the most part, but it takes a lot of effort. A fair bit of gritting his teeth and finding excuses to leave the room whenever Clarke's name is mentioned. The odd major sobbing breakdown in his room, alone, late at night, to let it all out.

He can't cry in front of the others. He has to stay strong and lead them, like Clarke wanted him to. And it wouldn't be fair, anyway – they've all lost people, and he has no right to wear his grief like a scar.

But more than anything else? He can't face their sympathy. He doesn't _deserve_ their sympathy. It was ultimately his call to leave Clarke behind, and he will have to live with causing her death for the rest of his miserable life. It's as simple as that.

…...

He copes a little better in the second week. He beats up Murphy a lot – sorry, _trains_ with Murphy. Sometimes Echo joins in and that's even better, because he doesn't care if he really hurts her. She took Clarke's place in that rocket, to his mind, and that's just one more thing on the list of sins he will never forgive the Azgeda spy for. And Echo's a good fighter, too. She leaves him battered and bruised, and that's good. As long as his skin is singing in pain, he's not feeling quite so acutely the pain in his heart.

The other coping mechanism he adopts, within the first couple of weeks? Sex. He's always used sex to hide from his emotions before now, and he doesn't see why it can't work with this spell of grief, too. The problem is that he doesn't want to have sex with any of the living people up here with him – he's mourning Clarke, and the relationship they never had, and she's the only person he has any interest in screwing. Which he can't, obviously, because she's _dead_.

So he wanks a lot. He's not proud of it, but it works. He spends a great deal of time with his hand around his cock and his mind on thoughts of Clarke.

He wonders if that's disrespectful, to be masturbating to the thought of his dead best friend. He's heard people say that you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he's not aware of any social norms for whether or not it's acceptable to fantasize about them.

Yeah, probably not. But he figures it's not the most screwed up thing he's ever done in the heat of grief.

…...

When he first sees her, he thinks it's his mind playing tricks on him. Probably his guilty conscience telling him that the handjob habit is getting a little out of hand. He can't understand why else he'd be hallucinating a stark-naked Clarke in the corner of his bedroom while he jerks off to the thought of her stunning curves.

The weirdest thing about this ghostly visitor? It really looks like she's fingering herself.

"Bellamy?" She asks, visibly flushing, looking around her in confusion. "Where – where are we?"

Then her hand drops away from her crotch, and she vanishes.

He thinks no more of it. That was just an odd psychiatric incident, but he'll get over it. Such things are probably not a surprise after all the trauma he's lived through.

He gets back on with rubbing his cock.

Clarke appears in the corner of the room again. Still stark naked, still fingering herself. He takes a longer look this time, because he doesn't see what the harm is in checking out a hallucination. She looks every bit as good naked as he always imagined, and this is certainly going to give him more to think about while he gets himself off in the days and weeks and months to come. Her breasts are huge, which – yeah, he'd already noticed. But they're pretty perky even without a bra, and then the line down her waist and through her hips is one gorgeous smooth curve.

"You're stunning." He breathes, because really, where's the harm?

She flushes again, her hand growing slower where she touches herself. "You, too. So hot. Are you – are you doing what it looks like?"

His hand freezes on his cock, although he's not sure why. "You're touching yourself too." He points out, peeved.

She flushes ever deeper, pulls her hand away from her crotch. "This is so strange. What's -?"

With that, she vanishes again, half way through her sentence.

Bellamy is confused, now. If his subconscious is going to conjure up an imaginary masturbation buddy for him, he'd have thought she'd at least stick around. He doesn't understand why she keeps coming and going like this.

"Clarke?" He speaks into the emptiness, aware that he's acting crazy. "Clarke? Could you – could you maybe come back?"

She does. She reappears, still naked, still touching herself. Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief and gets back on with rubbing one out. It's going to be much more fun with this hallucination to check out, he decides.

"Can you stay this time?" He asks her, aware that he sounds needy and pathetic. He just misses her, OK?

"I don't know. I don't know what's happening." She says, hand going still once again.

"Don't stop." He practically growls at her. "I want to watch you, Clarke. Want to watch you touching yourself."

She frowns but gets moving. "Really? You – you want this?"

He gives a hollow laugh. "I know it's sick, OK? I know jerking off over my dead best friend is sick. But it's kind of my life now so if you could stay there like a good... _sex ghost_ that would be great."

"You think I'm dead?" She gasps, visible tears springing to her eyes.

OK, this is annoying him now. He's here to wank, not to revisit his grief yet again.

"Of course I think you're dead. _You are dead_. I killed you. Why else do you think I'm sitting here jerking off over some damn hallucination of you?"

"I'm not dead, Bellamy. I swear I'm not dead." Wow. He really is losing his mind.

"Clarke. Just shut up and touch yourself for me." Figures that they bicker even when she's dead.

"No, Bellamy. I'm alive." She lets her hand fall away and takes a couple of steps towards him. "I'm -"

And then, of course, she vanishes. Just his luck.

He sighs, closes his eyes, tries to remember everything about her naked body. Or his _imagined_ version of her naked body, he supposes he should say. He's never seen her real naked body – he mustn't let himself forget that.

Scarcely three seconds later he hears her voice.

"I think I've figured it out." She says, and his eyes snap open to find her scarcely a foot away. This is getting creepy, now, he decides – and that's coming from him, who's become something of an expert in creepy behaviour since he adopted this habit.

He doesn't answer, because he's here to come, not chat.

"I mean – some of it." She hedges. "I think I can only see you while – while I'm touching myself. But that makes no sense because – ah – it's not the first time I've done this."

Again, he ignores her. She's just tormenting him now, talking as if she fingers herself for him all the damn time, and he can't allow himself to believe there's any truth in that.

She's dead, and he needs to remember it.

"I'm alive." She tells him, while she hovers a foot away.

He snorts.

"What do you want me to say?" She snaps at last, exasperated, half crying. "How do you want me to prove it?"

"You can't." He tells her. "You're dead. I killed you."

"Will you stop saying that? You did what I wanted you to do, Bellamy. You got everyone out of there safely. You _lived_."

He ignores her, because he's trying not to cry. That's mostly not a problem while he's masturbating, and he's annoyed with her for ruining this totally functional coping mechanism he thought he'd found.

She sounds angry with him when she continues to speak. "OK. How about this? That scar on your lip, it's from when you were a kid. Your sister had the flu and you were desperate to get home and find out whether she was OK. So you ran down the hallways after school, and you fell and cut your lip."

He frowns. That is true, but it's also something he already knows. It doesn't prove that Clarke's alive – it just proves that his subconscious is determined for him to believe that she is.

"You can't be alive, Clarke. You can't be. I left you on a burning planet." He's crying now, his hand slowing to a stop on his cock. "I can't let myself believe that you're alive. I can't let myself _hope_. Because then when I come home in five years and you're not alive that will be even worse."

"Bellamy. Look at me." He does, and her eyes are soft and warm and just like he remembers. "I need you to keep touching yourself otherwise I guess I'll get sent home again." She murmurs.

He does. He has to admit it, he's missed taking orders from Clarke. Just a little bit.

She continues to speak, voice damp with tears. "I don't know how to prove I'm alive, Bellamy. I can tell you all about what happened? I got back to the lab just in time, I'm hiding out here now until the flames die down. I can tell you every word you've ever said to me, I'm pretty sure."

He shakes his head. He doesn't know what he wants from her – other than her survival, he supposes.

"OK. Here's an idea. You can go to engineering and look for the desk that used to be my father's. When I was a kid and he used to take me into work in the school holidays I'd draw on the wall under his desk, where it was hidden and no one could see it. There's a tree there – not a good one – and a rainbow. Go check it out, I swear it's there."

He considers that for a moment. Maybe he's foolish to consider it at all, maybe this is just his mind playing yet another trick on him. But something about her earnest tone and the sheer unexpected imagination of her story has him pretty convinced. He doesn't see how he could have invented an anecdote about drawing beneath a desk in engineering.

"I can't go check like this." He says, with a damp chuckle, gesturing to his nakedness and his cock still grasped in his right hand. "I'll go look when we're... finished talking."

"You believe me?" She asks, excited, drawing ever closer.

"I want to." He admits, eyes dropping to the floor. "Of course I want to. But it's crazy, Clarke. I guess your story about making it back to the lab could make sense. But what about _this_? How do you explain the fact that you're here now?"

Of all things, she grins at him a little. "So you mean now you're finally ready to talk about the fact we're masturbating together?" She teases.

It's too soon. He's not ready to joke about any of this.

"I'm sorry." He mutters. "God, I know it's disgusting. I thought you were dead and here I am thinking about you and -"

"Hey. Hey, it's OK. Why do you think I'm here? I was – you know – thinking about you too." She explains, then bites her lip.

He's seriously missed her lips. He's never even kissed them, but the way she's so expressive with them, the way she bites them like that? It's not good for his heart rate, that's all he can say.

He forces his attention back to her confession. "You were?" He's not even that surprised, somehow. He just wishes they'd had the time or the confidence or the sheer spontaneity to do something about this before Praimfaya.

She nods, flushing. "Yeah. I – it happens sometimes."

He grins. "You mean you do it all the damn time."

"Not _all_ the time. Pretty often, I guess."

"Me too." He tells her, and it's only a slight omission of truth.

There's a short pause. They both look at each other, still touching themselves, smiling tentative smiles. The tears are more or less dry on Bellamy's cheeks, now, and he's feeling better than he has done since the death wave. He's not even been to check on those drawings under that desk yet, but somehow with every word that passes between them, he becomes more convinced that this is real.

He decides to take that optimism and run with it.

"So how do you think this works?" He asks. "If you disappear every time we stop...?"

"Then I guess we have to keep going." Clarke says with a teasing grin. "Only if we keep going, then sooner or later we'll come and be finished and then I'll disappear anyway."

"Then we take it slow. And maybe we try this again sometime." He suggests, and finds himself unaccountably nervous for raising the idea. She's already admitted that she masturbates to the thought of him pretty often, and they've also established that this is their only way of seeing and talking to each other. And yet there's still something slightly nerve-wracking about inviting Clarke to do this with him more often.

"Sometime? I mean, I hope we're going to do this a lot." She sounds somewhere between amused and exasperated, he thinks.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I hope you've figured out by now that I'm missing you?" She asks it in a teasing tone, but he knows the question is serious.

He wells up a little as he tries to answer. "I miss you too. So much. Come here." He reaches out his free arm towards her.

She frowns. "Do you think that will work? Do you think we can touch each other?"

"Only one way to find out."

She nods, and steps closer. She reaches out with her right hand, slowly, tentatively. She stretches towards him until their fingers are just a hair's breadth apart.

And then she touches him. She's here, real, solid against his fingers.

Surely there's no way he can be making this up?

He clasps her hand more fully with his, and then tugs her towards him. She comes easily, willingly, falling into his chest. And then they're embracing, hugging tightly for the first time since he thought he lost her.

That sets him crying all over again, tears falling into her hair. She seems to be weeping quietly too, and he can feel her tears trickling down his chest. He simply holds her tight while they both allow themselves a moment to catch up.

And of course, all the while, he continues lazily stroking his cock.

When the tears have more or less dried up, Clarke asks him a question.

"Do you think it works if we touch each other?" She wonders.

His heart leaps into his throat. "You want to try that?"

She nods against his chest.

He doesn't make her beg for it. He's too eager to try this himself – he's been desperate for Clarke for months, now, and the last two weeks mourning her have not helped in the slightest. So it is that he covers her hand with his own, eases her fingers out of the way and replaces them.

She doesn't go anywhere. She stays, shifting a little beneath his hand as she gets comfortable.

"That OK?" He asks.

Another nod. "So good, Bellamy. I don't know how this is happening but whatever it is, it's good."

He laughs. He can agree with that. Clarke feels so perfect around his fingers, warm and wet and wanting, and this is pretty much everything he's ever dreamed of.

Only then it gets even better. Then she reaches out to grasp his cock, starts jerking him off firmly, decisively. It's so very _Clarke_ , the determined way she's getting on with it, that he almost comes right there in her hand.

He can't do that. They need to make this last.

"We should talk." He murmurs, slowing down with his fingers, and she gets the hint and slows her strokes of his cock.

"You're right. We need a plan." She agrees. "But is it terrible that I just want to get on with this?"

He grins, presses a kiss to her hairline. It's the first time he's ever kissed her at all, now he comes to think about it. Maybe he ought to do something about that sooner or later. They do seem to have a funny habit of doing things out of order between the two of them.

"We can _get on with this_ in a minute." He assures her. "I want to make it really good for you, Clarke. But I don't want it to be over right away and then I lose you again."

"Yeah. Me neither. I guess if nothing else we can try again at the same time tomorrow night?" She suggests.

"What, I start jerking off and just pray that it _summons you_ , or whatever?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. It worked tonight, didn't it? I left a couple of times and came back again. So it must be possible."

"OK. We try again same time tomorrow." He agrees. He's worried it won't be as simple as that, but he supposes there's not much else they can do.

With that, it seems, Clarke decides that they have reached a conclusion. He figures that out from the way she starts working his cock with renewed dedication. It feels so good – somehow so much better than his own hand – and it's all the better for the way she's panting slightly as he uses his fingers for her at the same time.

He gathers his courage and tilts her head up with his free hand. It's past time they tried kissing, he decides.

Clarke seems to agree with him, based on the way she presses her lips to his before he's even had chance to make a move. She kisses like she does everything else in life – equal parts tenderness and fire – and the knowledge that they have snatched this unexpected happiness from the jaws of despair brings a new sting of tears to his eyes.

He blinks them back, annoyed. He really has been a mess tonight. But maybe that's no surprise, given the rather unusual circumstances.

He refocuses on the warmth surrounding his fingers, on how tight she is around them, on the way she toys with his cock. He's dangerously close already, and he hates that. He doesn't want to lose her so soon. But they've endured several minutes of unconventional foreplay before they even started touching each other, so he supposes it's no surprise.

And even as he's annoyed with himself for getting so close, he's absolutely desperate to come. That's the most infuriating thing of all – this is just too good for him to want to slow it down.

"Can I try something?" He asks, pulling away from the kiss just long enough to get the words out.

Clarke nods, then dives straight back in to kiss him.

He rolls her onto her back without another word. He figures that as long as they're still touching each other, still keeping it sexual, she's not going anywhere. She seems to work out what he has planned, reaching up to grasp at his hips and pull him down towards her.

"You want this?" He checks.

"Yeah."

He eases carefully inside of her, finds that she feels even better around his cock than she felt around his fingers. His restraint is growing strained, now, but he tries to keep it slow as he rolls his hips, drawing moans of pleasure from her.

"Faster." She murmurs, sucking a bruise into the soft skin just beneath his collarbone.

He gasps in shock. She must be real. Hallucinations can't leave hickeys, he's pretty sure.

"You sure?" He checks. "When we're done -"

"I'll come back. Tomorrow." She reassures him, as if either of them has any control over this strange situation they've found themselves in.

He bites his lip, as much to keep from groaning as through indecision. He wants this, wants to move against her and chase his orgasm, but he just can't face losing her again.

He can't face losing her without ever telling her how he feels.

That decides it. He relaxes into the rhythm, gives her what she asked for – what they both want. He moves more urgently, grabs at her breasts, kisses her messily.

And then he pulls back and tries to right a wrong.

"Clarke. I need you to know – if I don't see you again -"

She cuts him off with a kiss. "You will."

He doesn't tell her she can't promise that. Partly because he doesn't want to ruin the moment, and partly because it's a struggle to form the words as he teeters at the edge of his self-control.

Clarke comes first, crying out his name, digging her fingernails into his shoulders. He hopes they'll leave a mark, too. He wants her to mark him, so he can wake up tomorrow morning to evidence that this was real.

He follows close behind her with that thought, dropping his face to her neck as he spills inside of her. He'd love to stay here all night, wants to come down slowly and bask in the closeness and cuddle Clarke for hours.

But he realises all too abruptly that he can't do that. The second this stops being sexual, she'll disappear. They're on the clock, and he needs to tell her how he feels.

"Clarke. _Please_. I -"

She's already gone. And he's lying here lonely in his still-warm bed, with only the sharp sting of a hickey on his collarbone to suggest he hasn't completely lost his mind.

"May we meet again."

He likes to think that, wherever she is – alive or dead, on Earth or in whatever passes for heaven these days – she might be saying the same words.

…...

He can't bear to look in the mirror the following morning. What if it was just a particularly vivid dream? What if he's lost his mind every bit as much as he's lost Clarke?

He grits his teeth. He needs to do this, and putting it off won't make it any easier.

He walks to the mirror, and his eyes go wide. That's definitely a hickey, there, just below his collarbone. It's a pretty substantial one, really, quite big and a gorgeous shade of purple. He makes a mental note to tease Clarke about that next time he sees her – if ever he does see her again.

He turns around, casts a look back over his shoulder. Yes, there are nail marks across his back, too.

This all seems like quite a lot of evidence, he decides. He doesn't see how he could have inflicted nail marks on his own back in the course of a sex dream.

He gets dressed and heads to engineering. Sure enough, beneath a dusty desk labeled "Jake Griffin", a childish sketch of a tree and a rainbow shine on.

…...

Bellamy can't control his grin by the time he arrives at breakfast. He's aware that this is going to be incredibly difficult to explain, and he has to admit that he doesn't have a good plan.

Planning was always Clarke's thing, after all.

He's briefly tempted to stop by his room and see if he can get through to her. All he would need to do is play with his cock for a bit and hope she's masturbating too, right? But he cannot see any good reason why she would be fingering herself at eight in the morning. And anyway, they have plans for tonight. If it even works a second time.

The point is, he's being silly. He shouldn't go to his room and try to speak to Clarke. He should just go to breakfast and try to explain away the smug smile on his face.

He tries to act normally, as Raven hands out the rations. Harper gives him a slightly funny look, and Monty frowns from across the table, and Murphy quirks his brow. But apart from that, he thinks he's getting away with it.

Almost.

They're about thirty seconds into the meal when he admits defeat.

"Clarke's alive." He announces.

The table falls silent at once. Murphy was half way through a sentence about the rations but no one seems to care any more. Everyone is staring at Bellamy, expressions on their faces that vary between shocked and pitying.

Harper speaks first. "Are you feeling OK, Bellamy? I know a lot has happened recently."

Monty follows. "Bellamy, I know it's hard to accept that -"

"She's alive. I've spoken to her."

That has Raven frowning. "We don't have a working radio, Bellamy."

"No. Not on the radio. It wasn't like that." He flaps his hands, hunts for an explanation that doesn't involve the words _masturbate_ or _sex_ or _crazy_. "You know the old stories about soulmates? I guess it was something like that. Some kind of weird bond based on – on _love_." He chokes out.

"You're imagining things." Murphy suggests, with his customary bluntness.

"No, I'm not. We had a long talk, everything she said made sense. And she was solid, we could touch." He feels his face grow hot, but presses on. "She even told me about this drawing under her father's old desk to prove she was real. And that drawing is there, I checked just now."

"Seems like a weird thing to imagine." Murphy concedes with a shrug. "Maybe you're not crazy."

"Maybe you already knew about that drawing and it's your subconscious remembering it now." Raven offers cautiously.

"It was real, OK? She's alive. It was real." He insists.

About half of his friends still look dubious. Murphy looks unconcerned. Echo looks uninterested.

Bellamy sighs and tugs at the neck of his T shirt. He doesn't much like the idea of advertising his sex life to everyone, but if it convinces them it'll be worth it. The funny thing is, he never did mind showing off his sex life back at the dropship. He guesses it just hits differently now it's with Clarke.

He can feel his face heating as he explains himself. "Believe me when I say that she's really alive. That's how I got this." He mutters, eyes fixed on the table.

There's a moment of silence, broken only by a couple of shocked gasps.

And then Murphy lets out a low whistle. "Damn, the Princess is a biter. Who'd have thought it?"

"Don't talk about her like that." Bellamy grinds out, somewhere between pleased that his friends seem to believe him and affronted to hear Murphy's coarse words.

"You'd have to be really crazy to give yourself a hickey." Raven concedes.

"Can we talk to her?" Monty asks.

Bellamy laughs. "No. Definitely not. It seems like she can only visit as long as we're actively making -"

"That's enough of that." Raven interrupts. "Tell her we say hi. That is, if you're not too busy getting busy."

"Yeah. I will do. If – when – she comes back."

…...

Without doubt, this has been the longest day of Bellamy's life.

He now has a new appreciation for the phrase _the tension is killing me_. He's such a mess of anticipation at the thought of seeing Clarke again – and making love with her again – alongside his fear that she might not come back. He can't decide whether he's more excited or terrified, and he feels sick to his stomach with nerves.

He doesn't make it to the same time as last night in the end. He struggles through supper and then he admits defeat, and bails on an evening of board games with his crew mates. They tease him a little, because they know where he's going, but even Echo wears an understanding look in her eyes.

When he arrives back at his room, he undresses, even though it's still a good couple of hours before he's due to meet Clarke. And then he grasps his cock in one hand, and a book in the other, and settles down to wait.

He's not sure how purposefully he has to be wanking for this to work. He doesn't want to get too excited, because he wants to save the good part for when Clarke gets here – _if_ she gets here. So he keeps it slow and sloppy, barely stimulating at all.

He doesn't take in much of the book he's reading, which is a shame, because he likes the Iliad. But he's too distracted by wondering whether Clarke will show up, and when she'll show up, and why she's showing up. It's a very strange concept, this – the idea that he's sort of summoning her by grabbing his cock and hoping she's touching herself, too. He's heard legends about soulmates, but this is on a whole new level of crazy.

But then again, they've seen a lot of crazy, since they first left the Ark.

Clarke doesn't wait for their arranged meeting time, either. He knows this because he's barely been reading and touching himself for half an hour when she appears.

"Someone's eager." She teases, when she sees him there.

He shrugs, tries to make out like it's no big deal. "I didn't have any other plans."

Her face falls a little, and he curses. They have some kind of bond strong enough to call her through space to make love with him. He thinks probably he ought to be past the point of trying to play down his feelings to protect his heart.

He swallows, and attempts a more honest comment. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since last night." He admits, voice hoarse.

"Me neither."

He takes a risk and stands up, hand still wrapped loosely around his cock of course. They didn't really try having him move about last night, but he figures it's worth exploring.

It seems to work. She doesn't disappear, so that's something. He walks over to her and pulls her in for a resounding kiss. Her hand falls away from her crotch as she tugs at his shoulders and tries to get even closer to him. He lets go of his cock, figures he can always start over again if she vanishes.

But she doesn't. She stays put while they make out for several long minutes, and it's quite possibly the best thing that's ever happened to him. Sure, having sex with her yesterday was stunning. But just standing here and kissing patiently, lovingly, as if they have all the time in the world? As if they're a perfectly normal couple?

That's all he's ever wanted for the two of them.

She pulls away from the kiss, and he shoots out a hand to rest on her breast. He's not having her disappearing on him now. No way. This has to be sexual enough to keep her here, right?

"Can we talk more tonight?" He murmurs. "Last night was great but – I've missed talking to you."

"Yeah. We didn't get chance to just chat, did we? I wonder if maybe we should plan more carefully too."

"Of course you think we need a better plan." He teases, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

She smiles softly. "I just think it would be nice if I could stay for a bit after we're finished. Maybe if we keep kissing or we think about where we leave our hands when we're done."

"Like this you mean?" He teases, squeezing her breast slightly.

"Exactly like that." She agrees.

There's a moment's pause. They're both standing there, smiling rather stupidly at each other. Bellamy knows that he for one is trying to process the idea of being so blissfully happy, when only twenty-four hours ago he was so wretchedly sad. And now he doesn't even know where to start – whether to ask about her day or try to define this relationship they seem to have fallen into or just get on with kissing her again.

"Come on." He tugs her in the direction of the bed. "Let's sit and talk."

She nods and follows him, looking almost shy. It's fascinating, finally starting this sexual relationship with his closest friend. He thought he knew her pretty well but he's learning all sorts of new things about her. And the closeness they already shared means that this feels somehow really comfortable, despite the strange circumstances.

They settle on the bed, with Bellamy leaning back against the headboard and Clarke sitting between his legs. He cups her breast, and she leans back into him, and he hopes that this is sexual enough that she'll be able to stay.

It must be. She still hasn't gone anywhere by the time he's counted five seconds, and he allows himself to start to relax.

"Cute hickey." Clarke comments lightly, after a moment.

He laughs. "Yeah. I should have known you'd be fierce in bed."

" _Fierce_?" She echoes.

"Yeah. Telling me what to do, leaving your mark." She's gone still, so he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder. "I like it." He reassures her.

"You do?"

"I don't know if you noticed this already, but I quite like you." He teases.

That does it. She giggles a little, relaxes again. "Yeah, I got that impression. We've always had a pretty strange relationship but this is something else, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He swallows. "I know it's not perfect, and like you said it's beyond strange, but – I'm so happy, Clarke." He admits, voice breaking on her name. "I thought you were dead. But you're alive and you can come visit and you're even interested in having sex with me? It's _awesome_."

She twists in his arms, kisses him full on the lips despite the awkward angle. "You're right." She agrees, settling back into place. "I still can't believe that you think of me like – like this."

He snorts. "I've been thinking thoughts like this about you since October. Seriously, I'm pretty sure you'd have slapped me if you knew even half of it."

"I've got you beaten. I had a sex dream about you the week after we landed." She tells him, as if that's the kind of thing she can just casually drop into conversation.

It's not, to be clear. Or it shouldn't be. It has he heart pumping in his ears and his cock growing hard against her lower back.

He swallows painfully. "Yeah?" He croaks out. "Want to demonstrate?"

She laughs. "Later. Tell me all your news first. I want to hear everything."

She wants to hear everything, so he tells her everything. He updates her on Monty's healing hands and Harper's healing happiness, the rations they eat for breakfast, the games they play after dinner. He tells her honestly how he's been coping, too. He admits that he's felt awful, mourning her and blaming himself, because it's easier to say things like that when she's safe and warm and present in his arms. And she helps him through it, covering his hand with gentle fingers, telling him to go on with tenderness in her voice.

Then it's her turn. She has less to say, because she's all alone. But she tells him about radiation sickness and burning flesh, and that makes sense of the scars he can still see and feel on her skin. She tells him about the rations she has left, and her plans for exploring outside when they run out.

She tells him that she's going to be OK, that she plans to survive until he comes home again.

He knows she cannot guarantee that so simply. But he's always placed his faith in Clarke, and so he does that now, hugging her tight and telling her that he believes in her. He trusts that she'll make it through.

He has to, otherwise he'd lose his mind.

When they're done catching up, there's a silence. Bellamy is content with that – he'd gladly sit here holding Clarke all night. Or at least, he's _mostly_ content with that. That disappointingly animalistic part of him seems to want to get on with the sex, now.

"What do you want to do now?" He murmurs, nuzzling into her hair. He can do things like that without feeling like he ought to hide it, now they seem to be together, he figures. "We can just hang out together for a bit. Or we can try to share my book." He suggests, on the edge of laughing at himself.

"Or I could tell you about that sex dream." Clarke says, tone perfectly even.

He grins. "Yeah, that's an option. You tell me yours and I'll tell you some of mine?" He suggests, not even feeling particularly self-conscious about it.

Yeah, it is beyond horrific that the world is burning and Clarke is down there alone. But this? Having Clarke in his arms and sharing a sex life with her that they talk about openly? It's quite literally the best thing that's ever happened to him, he's pretty sure. That's a paradox it's going to take him some time to get his head around.

"I'm not telling you." She turns in his arms, smirking, and kisses him soundly. "I'm showing you."

He feels the air rush from his lungs. She's not making it any easier to believe this is real, here. This feels like a scene ripped right out of his fantasies. He nods, wordless, and kisses her back.

She pulls away from the kiss, and pauses just a moment, a slightly hesitant look in her eye. "Just tell me if you don't like it, OK? This is all so new. I don't know if you'll be into it."

"I'll be into it." He says, before he can really think about whether the words are true. He's into quite a lot of things, as a general rule. Mostly he's just into sex, and Clarke, and sex with Clarke. Unless she's about to lock him to the bed and leave him there for the next three days, he thinks that probably they're all good.

She nods and climbs out of his lap, keeping a gentle hand on his cock as she goes. That's his practical Princess – ensuring she doesn't go and vanish on him before they're done here.

"Lie down." She instructs him.

He does.

She hesitates again. "So – keep in mind that back when I had this dream I thought I wanted to find a way to shut you up." She explains carefully.

He grins. He thinks he can see where this is going. "Yeah, I fantasized about some ways to occupy your mouth, too." He tells her. "Maybe we can get to those next?"

That does it. That convinces her that he's fine with whatever she wants to try, within reason – and that he's definitely fine with what's about to happen here. Without making him wait any longer, she swings her leg over his shoulders and lowers herself carefully down onto his face.

"All OK?" She asks, placing her hands firmly on his chest and sitting onto him a little more deeply.

He makes a grunting noise of agreement, because strangely he can't talk right now. It's not just the fact she's physically in his way – he's pretty sure he'd be too turned on to form a coherent sentence anyway.

He didn't expect this to feel so good for him. He knew he'd enjoy bringing Clarke pleasure, but he's stunned to find that it feels great to be surrounded by her, wetness slicking across his lips and chin and even his nose. He can feel the delighted groans she makes as vibrations that shoot right through them both, can caress her breasts with gentle hands while she moves above him.

And the best thing of all? The knowledge that she's been dreaming about this since last year.

He's rock hard and half-undone himself by the time Clarke comes, even though no one has touched his cock in several minutes. It's just that intense, lying beneath her like this and pleasuring her – or helping her pleasure herself, perhaps.

"Your turn." Clarke declares, shifting off him and bending to lick slowly along the length of his cock.

He gasps. "Kneel for me?" It's supposed to sound like he's ordering her, but it might come out more like he's begging. Either way, she does it, and he stands over her, and waits for her to get the hint.

"Do you think it's a bad sign that we fantasize about shutting each other up?" Clarke asks lightly, not taking the bait.

"Clarke -"

"Don't worry, I moved onto other things." She assures him, studiously ignoring the cock waving in her face. He reaches down to tweak a nipple, because he can't risk her disappearing on him.

Also because he wants to know how she reacts, to be honest. As it happens, she reacts by gasping loudly. He files that useful fact away for later.

She continues to chatter brightly. "Mostly I moved onto thinking about holding me while we screw, you know? Holding me up against the wall, or just hugging me really tight. I guess maybe I have a thing about your arms."

That's flattering, of course. Maybe it's more than flattering – maybe it's even _moving_. But he really wants her to suck his cock, and he really doesn't want her to vanish.

"Are you going to make me beg?" He asks, somewhat choked.

She pretends to consider his question, reaches up a hand and runs a finger lightly over his tip. "I don't know. Should I?"

"Please, Clarke. Please suck my cock." He swallows his pride. "I need you to suck my cock."

She lets him have it, then. She takes him into her mouth – impressive, given she's not a big woman – and gets to work.

It feels good, of course it does. And it looks good, what with the sight of Clarke kneeling before him and the way she peers up at him with those bright eyes. She's so joyful when they are in the bedroom together, and he really likes that. She's had precious little to be joyful about in the time they've known one another.

But more than anything, he's feeling pretty overwhelmed by the fact that this is happening at all. Clarke is alive, and they have a relationship that involves sexual teasing.

It's _amazing_. Simply fantastic.

He decides to tell her some of that.

"So good, Clarke." He pants, knitting a hand through her hair. "Amazing. So hot."

It's less than half of how he feels about this situation, but it's a start, he figures.

This is getting dangerous, now. He's losing control. His world has narrowed to Clarke's lips and Clarke's eyes and Clarke's breasts and he's going to fall apart for her.

"I'm close." He mutters. It only seems fair to warn her, give her the chance to opt out of swallowing.

She reaches up for his hand, squeezes it hard. Meets his gaze and makes it perfectly, silently clear that she's staying put until he's done.

He closes his eyes. He can't look at her now. He can't. It's all too much, too hot, too _Clarke_.

"I'm there." He gasps. "I'm there. I'm -"

He spills down her throat, squeezes her hand hard. Opens his eyes to the sight of her looking up at him with something that might almost be adoration.

He swallows. Maybe it's more of a gulp. He can't entirely believe this is happening.

Clarke rocks back onto her heels, and he finds himself crouching before her. He thinks that's because he needs to cup her breast to keep her here, but it might be because his knees are weak. Or because he wants to get down onto her level, look her right in the eye. Maybe a bit of all three.

"That was incredible." He whispers, leaning forward for a kiss. "What now?"

"Can I try to stay a little while?" She asks, suddenly vulnerable. "If we arrange on the bed so we're touching each other..."

"I'd love that." He says, because it seems like that's the closest she's going to let him come to saying he loves _her_. He still hasn't forgotten how she cut him off last night. And right now, in the intimacy of this moment, he desperately wants to say it. So it's no surprise that the word spills out, even if in a rather different context.

He keeps kissing her softly as he walks them backwards to the bed. They settle down together, him spooning her closely, his lips on the nape of her neck and his hand on the curve of her breast.

"You think this will be OK?" He murmurs against her skin.

"We'll find out." She says, snuggling back into him even more. "Thanks, Bellamy. This is just what I needed."

"Me too." He agrees, because he's pretty sure that holding Clarke close will always be just what he needs.

It's not long before she falls asleep. She must be exhausted, Bellamy figures, coping alone and having recently been sick. And he bets she's not sleeping well – she never does, when she's stressed.

He stays awake a little longer. Watching over her, keeping up the routine of gentle kisses on the back of her neck. He doesn't want her to go. He doesn't want to lose her.

"I love you." He whispers, when he knows she's fast asleep.

It's not long later that he starts to nod off, too.

…...

He wakes up in the early hours, all alone in the bed. The space where Clarke used to be is cold, but there's a slight indentation in the pillow where her she fell asleep last night.

He sighs. He guesses this is it – this is his wonderful, terrible life for the next five years.

…...

Bellamy has more or less managed to piece his good mood back together by the time he sets out for breakfast that morning. Sure, it's horrible that Clarke has to keep disappearing on him. But the fact that she can come to visit at all is brilliant – and the fact that she _wants_ to visit in quite this particular way is even better – and those are the things he needs to hold on to.

He's grinning as he walks into the dining room. Murphy rolls his eyes a little, Monty responds with a bright smile.

Then Raven speaks up. "You were right. She's definitely alive. And I don't know how the hell she's showing up in your room at night but it's true."

He nods, confused. It is true, but he doesn't understand why Raven is suddenly raving about it.

"What brought this on?" He asks.

Raven looks away. "I heard her voice last night."

He feels his face grow hot. "Her voice?"

"Yeah. Don't worry – you were talking about something. Not, you know – yeah. I guess I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Don't be. I was doubting myself." He says with an easy shrug. Everything seems easier, now he has Clarke in his life again.

Everything except waking up without her.

…...

Clarke decides that she wants to spend some time with the others, wants to try chatting with their friends, and Bellamy agrees, because of course he does. Now she's miraculously back from the dead and sometimes in his bed, he's not inclined to deny her anything.

All the same, he's nervous about it. He's nervous because this is all so new. Will their budding relationship withstand the awkwardness of them literally being in bed together while they hang out with their friends? Will he ever be able to look any of them in the eye again, once they have watched him sit in bed groping Clarke beneath the covers?

Of course, none of these worries are anything compared with the grief of believing Clarke was dead. So he sucks it up, asks the others to wait outside his room, and summons Clarke by stripping naked and running a gentle finger over the head of his own cock.

She appears right away. He likes it when that happens. It makes him feel like she must be a little bit obsessed with him, and that's rather good for his self esteem.

"They're waiting outside." He explains, reaching out for her. He'd far rather be touching Clarke than himself.

"We should get comfortable." She suggests.

He laughs. What else is he supposed to do? How comfortable can they honestly expect to be, touching each other so that she can chat to their friends?

They arrange themselves on the bed, Clarke sitting in Bellamy's lap so that he can easily keep touching her and thereby keep her present. He pulls the bedsheets right up around them, covers them carefully and completely. There's something very primal and possessive in him that doesn't much like the idea of anyone else sneaking a look at her breasts.

"Are we good?" He whispers the question into her ear.

She nods, leans even further back into his embrace. "Yeah. Let's do this."

He steels his courage, and calls for their friends to enter the room.

Raven comes in first. Of course she does – she's not scared of anything. Murphy barges in next, then Monty and Harper follow in a slightly more careful and polite sort of a way. Even Echo and Emori sidle into the room, which Bellamy has to admit he finds at least a little moving. It feels strange to try to bring the two halves of his new life together like this, but at least everyone is here to offer their support.

"Told you she was real." Raven says brightly.

Bellamy frowns. He doesn't remember it being quite like that, actually.

Before he can mention that, Harper speaks up. "How are you doing, Clarke? It's good to see you."

"I'm great."

"I'd hug you but it doesn't seem practical." Monty says mildly.

And that's it. That's the only reference anyone makes to the fact that she's sitting naked in Bellamy's lap, swathed in bedsheets. That's the only time anyone acknowledges that they must be engaging in something a little bit like foreplay right now, seeing as Bellamy has explained to them how it works.

Their visitors stay for a long couple of hours. Raven talks excitedly about her plans to manufacture makeshift fuel to get them back to Earth in five years, while Murphy says that _makeshift_ fuel sounds like the worst possible kind of fuel. Monty talks about algae, while Harper shows more interest than anyone else in actually talking about _Clarke_ – her state of health, her supplies in the lab, her future plans. Emori seems positively friendly as she enters into a relaxed chat about Clarke's talent for survival, and even Echo adds an occasional sentence or two.

By the time Monty suggests giving the happy couple some privacy, Bellamy's legs are numb. He's not complaining, though. He'll gladly take the odd bit of physical discomfort if that's the price he has to pay for hanging out with everyone, all at once.

"Happy couple, huh?" Clarke asks, turning her neck to throw Bellamy a smile.

"Sickening, more like." Raven offers, tone teasing.

"Couldn't get it together on Earth and now you can't keep your hands off each other in space." Murphy contributes.

Clarke jumps to their defence. "It's not like that. We have to -"

"I know, I know. Bellamy told us. Just taking the piss, Clarke. Trying to think of something to say other than admitting I'm happy for you guys." Murphy mutters, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Bellamy laughs. He can't help it. He never thought he'd see the day when Murphy confessed to having actual friendly feelings towards the two of them, or wishing them happiness. Monty takes advantage of the lull in conversation to start herding everyone out of the room.

When they're gone, Bellamy rearranges things a little. He shucks the bedsheets, lifts Clarke's hips and eases her back onto his hard cock. They don't actually need to have sex every time they meet up, of course. They just need to act like they plan to while they're hanging out. But somehow, they do end up having sex every single time. Maybe they're trying to make up for all those opportunities wasted on Earth, he wonders, or maybe it's just that all this long-drawn-out foreplay never fails to get them in the mood.

Either way, he's not complaining. Clarke sitting in his lap and gently coaxing him to orgasm is his favourite thing about today – and that's saying something, because it's been a very good day.

…...

It quickly becomes habit – Clarke comes each night, is gone each morning. It's a routine, of sorts, albeit a rather unusual one. It leaves Bellamy craving some of the things he thinks are normal, for happy couples is functional relationships. Things like waking up together, eating breakfast together, spending a lazy morning reading or watching films together.

One morning, a couple of weeks after her first appearance, he decides to try something. He decides to just try summoning her before breakfast and see what happens. There's no way this can go wrong, he figures. If she's not interested in spending every hour of the day with him, then she won't be touching herself right now, so she won't appear and she'll never know he was being all lonely and pathetic and trying to get through to her.

And if she does want to see him now? Well, then. Then they'll both be happy, won't they?

He's oddly nervous as he takes a hand down to his cock. This is new territory for their relationship. He doesn't quite know why they've never tried it before – they're pretty open about being very much attached to each other. But admitting that she's his first thought when he wakes up in the morning seems like it's noteworthy, somehow.

He doesn't have time for his nerves to turn to fear. The second he starts touching himself, Clarke is there, grinning widely.

"Hey, you." She greets him, as if this is normal.

He decides he can match that. Carefully casual, he strides over and pulls her into a hug. "Morning." He says, as if this is something they do all the time.

"It's good to see you." She says, reaching up for a quick kiss.

"You too. I wasn't sure if you'd be – you know – _ready_."

She laughs a little, and walks him back over to the bed. "I'm always ready. I'm pretty much touching myself and hoping you're bored every minute I'm not busy with something else."

His breath catches in his throat. He's spent the last two weeks craving more time in Clarke's company, and she's been feeling the same way, too? Could they really have all those things he's been dreaming of – mornings and breakfast and domestic bliss?

"That's cool." He says inadequately. He swallows. "I've been wondering about – uh – inviting you up here in the mornings more often. But I don't want to get in the way of you doing other things. And I don't want you to get sick of me." He tries to say it like it's a joke, but it doesn't quite work.

"I'm definitely not going to get sick of you." She says, as if the very idea is unthinkable. "I guess in a couple of weeks when I run out of rations and have to leave the lab I probably won't have so much time to spend with you. But for now I have nothing to do. And – I like you."

He grins. It's the silliest thing, but she's never outright said it like that before. "I like you, too." He offers, kissing her teasingly on the nose.

She rolls her eyes. He loves being able to see this side of her – she's seemed so much lighter and more easily amused, these last couple of weeks, without the weight of the human race on her shoulders.

He wonders if that levity will survive, when she has to open the door.

No. That's a thought for another time. He sits on the bed, urges her to take her now-familiar position on his lap.

"What are we doing this morning?" He asks.

"Something... frivolous." She decides.

"Frivolous?" He's surprised by her choice of word.

"Yeah. You know – the kind of things couples were always doing in those old Earth movies. We should watch a TV show. Or get _brunch_."

He laughs. "I don't think there's a lot of brunch places on the Ark. And certainly none we can go to naked. But we can watch a movie or something." He offers, grabbing a tablet from his bedside cabinet. It's good to have ready access to technology again.

They do watch a movie. Or rather – he puts on a movie, and then he watches Clarke. And Clarke herself seems fascinated by watching the way their hands fit together as they lie clasped in her lap, seems mesmerised by the sight of his other hand cupping her breast.

It's probably a waste of a good movie. He seems to remember this one is quite well-liked, as a rule. But no matter how great a movie it is, he likes Clarke more.

…...

He worries about her a lot, when she has to leave the lab.

She comes to check in with him all the time – showing off the blisters she got digging out the rover, telling him that there's nothing much in Arkadia, telling him that she cannot open the Polis bunker.

He's worried about that. His sister's down there. But he's even more worried about Clarke, wandering alone over the surface of a scorched planet.

…...

He was right to be worried about her, it turns out. He should have known something big was brewing – he's seen less of her than usual, these last couple of days, even though he's been trying to summon her ever more often as his concern for her has grown sharper.

Then she shows up in his room weeping, and it all makes sense.

"I'm sorry." She gasps through her tears. "I'm so sorry. I can't do it, Bellamy. I can't. I can't."

He doesn't think that makes a whole lot of sense – partly because she's crying too much to explain herself very clearly, and partly because he's pretty sure Clarke Griffin can do _anything_.

But he senses that pointing that out right now would not be helpful.

He crosses the distance between them, and pulls her into a fierce hug. It's ruined a little by the fact he has to grope her breast while he's doing that so she doesn't disappear, of course, but he perseveres.

"What is it, Clarke? What's happened?"

"I can't do it. I – I haven't had water for _days_. And now I'm stuck in this desert without the rover and I – I _can't_."

He holds her even tighter. In moments like this, he wishes he could be simply her best friend for a few minutes, rather than always her lover. It's great that he gets to be both, of course it is, but right now he just wishes he could pull her into a chaste and utterly undemanding hug and hold her tight.

He does the next best thing. He pulls her ever closer, presses soft kisses against the tender skin of her neck. She's pretty sunburnt, he notes. That's hardly a surprise given the circumstances, but all the same he doesn't like it. He wonders if he's hurting her by kissing the red skin like this, but he can't stop. He'll lose her if he stops.

"I've got you." He whispers between kisses. "You're going to be OK, Clarke. I've got you."

She nods, snuggles deeper into his embrace. That's good. She's still crying, her tears trickling stickily down his chest – they're both naked, of course. On an academic level, he wonders why she's naked. She's always naked, and he's always presumed that she gets undressed before trying to get through to him. But it hardly seems very likely that she stripped in order to cry in a desert.

That's a question for another time. Right now he just needs to take care of Clarke.

"You're doing great." He tells her. "Really, you are. I'm so proud of you for surviving down there. You said you haven't had water? Can I try getting you some?"

"Do you think that will work?" She wonders, her curiosity cutting through her sadness for a moment.

"I think we should try it." He says, trying very hard to sound calm. If it doesn't work, he doesn't know what they'll do.

She nods against his chest.

Now for the hard part. "I'm going to have to let you go to fetch it, Clarke. But I'm going to be back really soon. I swear it. I'm just going to run and get it quickly."

Another nod.

He steels his courage. He hates doing this, hates leaving her when she's in such a bad way emotionally. And he simply doesn't know what to prioritise right now – should he be more worried about the state of her head or her physical health? But his every instinct is screaming that being properly hydrated will help, so he releases Clarke and turns to grab a pair of boxers.

She's gone by the time he's thrown them on.

He sets out down the hallways at a sprint, tumbles into the kitchen, skidding on bare feet. Monty is there preparing the evening meal, and Murphy is sitting and watching, looking rather bored.

"I need some water." Bellamy pants. "Lots of water. Clarke's sick."

Murphy jumps to attention, much to Bellamy's surprise. He grabs a couple of large bottles, helps Bellamy to fill them quickly. They're both rushing so much that half the water ends up over the floor and over Monty, but that's hardly the end of the world.

"Don't slip on your way back." Monty cautions mildly.

Bellamy nods. That seems like a useful instruction. His feet are pretty wet, and so is the floor. But all the same, he sets out back to his room at a run, rips his boxers off, grabs at his cock.

This really is the most infuriatingly strange and impractical way of inviting his girlfriend to visit.

She reappears in an instant, and Bellamy sighs in relief. She's still tearful, but no longer sobbing in quite that frightening way she was doing earlier. He gives her a quick hug, tries not to let on quite how scared he is. And then he arranges them in their usual sitting position on the bed and hands Clarke a bottle of water.

"Slow sips." He cautions.

"We don't even know if it will work." She points out.

It does work, though. Or at least, it seems to. She takes a sip, and her eyes light up.

"Good?" He asks.

"Good." She confirms. "I think so, anyway. I guess we'll have to wait and see if it hydrates me properly. But it would make sense for it to work. It seems like I really am physically present here when I visit."

He relaxes then, and hugs her close, his hand hovering on her breast as always. If she's trying to analyse the situation and theorise about their unique bond again, then she must be feeling a little more like herself.

They don't talk much, while Clarke sips her water. That's OK, Bellamy figures. He appreciates the quiet time just to come down from that earlier panic, just to let his anxiety unwind and his fears subside. And there's nothing better for that than the feel of Clarke in his arms, the sound of her breathing softly and drinking her water.

By the time she has made it to the end of the first bottle, things are looking good, it seems.

"I'm feeling a lot better." She murmurs. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I only gave you water. It's not much to make up for leaving you there in the -"

"Don't." She snaps. "Just don't. I need you to survive, OK? I could relive that day a hundred times and I wouldn't do anything differently."

He nods – not because he's ready to accept it, as such, but because he understands that is her truth. This is just something they will have to agree to disagree on – at least until he's made his peace with his decision to leave her behind, and he's pretty certain he won't manage that until he's back on Earth with her at the earliest.

"I need you to survive, too." He says quietly. "I know this might sound crazy but – what if you stayed here? It sounds dangerous down there and you haven't got food or water. Now we know you can drink up here, you must be able to eat too, right? Couldn't you just stay here where you're safe?"

It's a serious question, and she gives it serious thought. She goes still in his arms for several long seconds, breathing, thinking, processing. That's what Clarke does best.

At last, she speaks. "I can see why you say that. But I don't think it's a good idea. I don't want to live a – a _half life_ , having to be joined to you at the hip. I don't want that for either of us. We'd never leave this room. Food and water aren't the only things that matter – we need exercise and a bit of mental stimulation to be healthy, too. And I don't want to be like one of those women from Earth history who were dependent on their men for everything. I don't think it would be good for me."

He resists the temptation to point out that dehydration and starvation aren't good for her either. He can certainly see that she has a point. His idea has merit, and solves some immediate problems. But as ever, she is taking a more pragmatic and long-term approach.

"I think there's a middle way." She concludes softly. "I'll keep trying on Earth. I'll see what I can make of it, keep exploring. But at least now I know I can come to you if I need food or water or just to rest somewhere I'm not going to get sunburnt."

"You can come to me if you need a hug, too." He reminds her. "If you need someone to tell you that you're incredible, and that you can keep going."

She turns to press a kiss to his bicep. "Yeah. I know that. Thanks, Bellamy. For everything."

…...

Her decision to keep trying on Earth pays off. She's back later that day to tell him she's found a miraculous valley of green, back later that week to tell him she's found human company, too, in the form of a small and rather fierce girl who keeps trying to steal her food.

"Not to worry." Bellamy says lightly. "You can eat more here. We brought all those rations meant for you, after all."

He has to admit, he quite likes the idea of Clarke taking her meals with him more often. It sounds almost like those could be _dates_ , he thinks.

It sounds almost like the kind of thing normal relationships are built of, and not this odd sex-bond in the sky.

…...

He's getting used to her leaving, now. Sometimes he wonders whether leaving each other is what they do – she left him after Mount Weather, he left her on a burning planet. And now she leaves every night, some time in the early hours when their hands slip in their sleep.

Getting used to it isn't the same thing as accepting it, though.

Mostly he just tries to ignore it. He either invites her back for breakfast and a morning spent together, or else he leaves it and sees her that night. In fact, he feels like he has to leave it for the evening rather more often, now she's making her life in Shallow Valley. She always has so much to do – food to find, and now a child to take care of, in as much as the girl called Madi will accept Clarke's fuss and concern.

But for some reason, this morning, he wakes up particularly lonely. He's not sure what it is. Maybe it's the long chat they had last night about how much she's enjoying living a peaceful life on Earth, how much she wishes she could share it with him.

Without stopping to overthink it, he reaches for his cock. He's still half asleep, really, eyes still closed as he nuzzles into the pillow and tries to catch the lingering scent of Clarke.

He sighs in relief when she appears. He's still got his eyes shut, but he can hear her moving.

"Bellamy?" She asks.

"Just come here." He mutters sleepily. He knows it sounds like he's begging, but that's because he's feeling pretty desperate to hold her in his arms.

She doesn't argue, and he loves her more than ever for that. It's like she can sense that he needs her, this morning. She just walks straight over and lies down next to him, arranges herself so he can spoon her closely.

"You OK?" She asks quietly.

"Mhmm. Just wanted to sleep in next to you." He confesses.

She sighs, shuffles even closer back in to him. "Yeah. It's good." She agrees easily.

They stop speaking, then. Words simply aren't required. Bellamy dozes for a while, hovering between wakefulness and sleep. This part of the morning is even better with Clarke here, it turns out. It's just so comforting to be able to hold onto her as he prepares to face the day. And there's just something beautiful about feeling her human warmth, as opposed to the cold bed he has grown used to waking up in.

At length, he decides he is really rather more awake than asleep, now. He presses a couple of kisses to the back of Clarke's neck, decides to have a go at conversation.

"Was this OK?" He asks, still somewhat drowsy. "I hope I didn't keep you from anything."

"It's lovely. Just think – when you're back on the ground every morning can be like this."

He laughs softly. "Maybe not every morning. We're not going to have much luck hunting if we lie in bed together all morning."

She stretches slightly, then wriggles somehow even closer. "Maybe not. Every other morning?"

"I could agree to that."

There's a pause. They both know it's time to get up and face the day. But Bellamy doesn't really want to do that, however much he knows it is necessary, and he thinks he's right in thinking Clarke feels much the same way.

She's the one who breaks the silence.

"I have to go make Madi some breakfast."

"I know." He sighs. "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

She laughs lightly. "You know how this works. You can tell I was waiting for you. Just touch yourself for me and I'll be here."

He grins. He loves the implicit teasing that comes with this odd relationship – it's one of the good things that balance out the bad.

"I guess maybe I need to get better at admitting when I want you here." He offers, tentative.

She nods. "I check in all the time but mostly you're not... online. If you want to see me, I want to be here."

"OK."

With that decided, he gathers his courage. He kisses Clarke goodbye, prepares to face the day. They separate, roll apart on the bed.

By the time he stands up, Clarke has vanished.

…...

He gets more confident about checking in with her often, after that. It's a silly thing to be nervous of anyway, he resolves. It can't possibly do any harm to their relationship to admit that he craves her presence. But sometimes the silliest fears can be the sharpest fears of all.

As it happens, all goes pretty smoothly with his newfound resolution to invite Clarke to hang out more often. Sometimes he summons her for a kiss in the middle of the afternoon, or tells her when he's found a particularly funny part in his book. It brings a new kind of normality to this distinctly abnormal relationship.

And then, of course, there are the days when they end up screwing at eleven in the morning.

He doesn't usually invite her up here with that specific aim. Usually he just wants to see her. But even after all these months, he still can't get over the exciting novelty of being in a sexual relationship with Clarke. So it is that, once they've touched each other for a bit so they can talk, they end up having sex more often than not.

Today is a perfect example. He only invited her up here to share some thoughts about the book he found yesterday. But now the precious book lies discarded on the floor and Clarke is kissing him urgently.

"You OK?" He pulls away from her lips just long enough to ask the teasing question.

She frowns slightly. "Sorry. I thought you'd – never mind." She goes to back away out of his arms, shamefaced.

He doesn't let her go.

"Sorry. Only teasing." He reassures her, wondering when it is that the two of them will stop being so scared of their feelings. "I want you if you want me." He says simply.

She laughs. "Always."

Well, then. That's that one answered. He gets back to kissing her, makes a mental note that teasing her for looking interested in him is probably not a good idea in future. He thinks of Clarke as so tough and strong, but sometimes he forgets that she's pretty vulnerable underneath all that.

She relaxes soon enough, starts to let her hands wander. He takes the hint and goes to start walking them back towards the bed.

"No." She mutters, hands clasped at his hips. "I want it here."

"Right here?" He asks, surprised. There's a perfectly good bed just on the other side of the room – a bed they have both grown very familiar with, in recent months.

"Right here. Up against the wall." She confirms. "I want to feel you holding me here."

He growls deep in his throat. He can't seem to help it. He's always been prone to getting a little overexcited when Clarke mentions her attraction to his strength or his arms, or tells him she likes him to hold her. It's always really flattering, and it ties rather neatly with his protective instincts.

It takes him a moment to work it out. He lifts her up, settles her legs around his hips, then gets a bit flustered as he tries to figure out whether he's got her at the right height.

He hasn't.

He shifts her weight a little, careful not to crush her too much where he holds her against the wall. Yes. That's better.

"Sorry." He mutters, self-conscious. "Just trying to get the angle."

She trails kisses down his neck, apparently thoroughly unconcerned. "Not complaining. I could sit here all day admiring your shoulders."

He laughs. He still hasn't got used to this dynamic between them – the way they can check out and compliment each other so openly, now. He thinks he could probably live the rest of his life with Clarke and never take her generous admiration for granted.

That little exchange breaks some of the tension. This is just sex, right? Sure, it's sex standing up, and he's not tried that before. It's one of the few positions he's not confident in, really. But this is Clarke, and she doesn't care if it's awkward or sticky. So he lines himself up as best as he can and eases inside of her.

"OK?" He checks.

"Mhmm." She wriggles a little. "It's good. You going to get moving now?"

He does. He starts rocking his hips against her, finds that actually the new position does not make things so very different. The mechanics are still pretty much the same. The biggest difference is how quickly Clarke is getting excited, how much her breathing is spiralling away from her already. And he's always found himself seriously aroused by her pleasure, so before long he finds that he is struggling for control, too.

That makes things a bit trickier. He wants to concentrate on getting the new position right, on keeping it good for Clarke. But he's struggling to concentrate on anything much beyond the feel of her in his arms, the sounds she's making, the hot breath she pants against his neck.

"Bellamy." She gasps. Just that. Just his name.

"I know, Clarke. I know. You're OK. I've got you."

She lets go, then. He feels her tighten around him, hears her long sigh. He sort of wonders what to do, now – he's perilously close to the edge, but he doesn't know whether she wants him to keep going or whether she's desperate for him to stay still and let her come down.

"You can keep going." She whispers in his ear, as if on cue. "Take care of yourself. I'm good. Keep going."

He does. It doesn't take him very long at all, once she's said that. _Take care of yourself_ , she said. It's with that thought echoing in his ears that he falls apart, spilling inside of her, sagging a little then remembering that he needs to keep holding her in place.

No one's ever told him to take care of himself before. He's spent his whole life taking care of other people.

Huh. It figures that Clarke would be the one to say it. She sure does have a habit of turning his world upside down.

…...

The anniversaries are the worst – the anniversaries of the day he left her, that is.

The first year, he gets through it, just about. He changes the subject quickly whenever anyone asks him how he's doing. And he makes love to Clarke that night slightly more desperately and quietly than normal, but it's fine. He copes.

The second year is not like that. It's worse, somehow, now that more time has passed. It makes him feel like he ought to have dealt with his emotions by now, but he still hasn't. He's still not ready to face up to the fact he left Clarke behind. And it doesn't help, either, that his friends barely mention it. They made too much fuss about the first anniversary, but the second one seems largely to pass them by.

He cries a bit, after breakfast. He wonders about inviting Clarke up for a visit, but he doesn't want her to see him sad. He heads instead to the makeshift gym, lifts a few heavy things, wrestles with Murphy for a bit, and still feels no better.

He stays in his room, in the afternoon. He tells his friends he's sick, which he supposes he is, in a manner of speaking. He tries to read, but the words won't sit right in his head. He tries to sleep, but his thoughts are too loud.

Supper time comes and goes. Raven knocks at the door, and he tells her he's still sick. He'll be fine tomorrow, he says.

He hopes he'll be fine tomorrow. Tomorrow won't be the anniversary, so there's that. But right now he's not sure he'll ever be fine again.

It's more habit than anything else, when he reaches for his cock. That's what he does when he's feeling low – it has been that way for the better part of two years, now. He's not sure whether he's actively seeking Clarke's company, because he still feels pretty ashamed at the thought of facing her, right now. What right does he have to feel like utter crap today, when she's the one who was left behind? It's more that he's seeking comfort, and this is the only way he knows how.

He doesn't hear her arrive. But he does feel her sink onto the mattress behind him, slip her arm around his waist. Her hand replaces his, and they lie there for a moment. It's good. It's comforting, like he needed. He still feels pretty ashamed of having to send for her at all, today, but he's doing a bit better now that she is holding him tight.

He always likes it when she holds him. He knows she's a big fan of him holding her, so mostly that's what they go for. He likes to make her happy. But he has always found it comforting and encouraging and at least a little bit beautiful when she wraps her arms around him in turn.

This is different, though. This is completely different – she's spooning him and for once in the whole course of their relationship, he's doing _nothing_. He's just lying here and taking it. And part of him feels guilty for that, but only a very small part.

The other part is winning. The part that feels more relaxed and whole than he thinks he has ever felt in his life before.

The longer she stays there, just holding him in silence, the better he feels. He notices that his breathing has evened out and slowed down, and then realises that must mean he was breathing with a rather more panicked pant, earlier. His heart is no longer pounding in his ears, but just beating in his chest as it should. He even makes a little progress getting his thoughts back in order.

He breaks the silence. He knows Clarke won't. She'll lie there as long as it takes.

"Are you ever going to let me tell you I love you?" He asks. What else could he possibly say, in this moment?

She presses a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "Go on, then."

"I love you." The words come out as a relieved sigh. He never realised how much it has been costing him, to hold that confession cooped up inside his chest all these years. He feels lighter, all at once, on letting go.

Then Clarke speaks, and he feels better still.

"I love you, too." She says it as a solemn promise, sealed with another kiss to his neck. "You're OK, Bellamy. You're OK. You're allowed to hate this day."

He considers that for a moment. "I don't think I do hate it, any more. It won't just be the anniversary of me leaving you, now. It'll be the anniversary of telling you I love you."

She kisses him again. They lie there a little longer. He really is feeling much better, now. He will always hate himself for leaving her, but knowing that she loves him anyway is doing his soul quite a lot of good. And he's been waiting since long before Praimfaya to tell her how he feels, so he's at least a little ecstatic that he's managed it at long last.

Clarke either reads his improved mood, or has grown slightly too accustomed to their sexual teasing. Or maybe both.

"I could jerk you off from here." She says lightly. "You know, if you wanted that. It just seems like you enjoy me spooning you like this."

"I really love it." He admits. They're allowed to pass that word freely between them now, right?

"So is that a yes to a hand job to cheer you up?" She asks bluntly.

He laughs. She always does make his day brighter, in so many ways. "Go on then."

It's a pretty great handjob, for the record. There's nothing particularly exceptional about what Clarke's small fingers are doing, but he's simply overwhelmed by the rest of it. The care and concern in the way she holds him tight in her arms. The gentleness with which she kisses his shoulders, set against the determination with which she works the length of his cock.

And the best part of all? He comes to the sound of her whispering words of love in his ear.

…...

Bellamy has more sex in those five years than he ever had at the dropship camp. Sex on the bed, sex on a chair, sex up against the wall or in the shower or even, on one memorable occasion, half-in the bathroom sink.

He's not complaining. Clarke's stunning. And she really knows what she's doing, is very attentive to his preferences and needs and responses.

But there's a lot more to it than sex. That's what he likes the most. This may be some sexual soulmate bond, built on the back of her coming to come, then going when they're done. But between and around and alongside touching each other, they build an odd sort of family life.

The strangest thing of all? He seems to have ended up adopting a child he's never even met.

"Madi says hi." Clarke tells him, today, as she pops up in his room with her hand on her crotch.

He's accustomed to them discussing childrearing whilst masturbating, these days. It took a fair bit of getting used to, but it's better than having no part in Clarke's life with her daughter at all. It's been an interesting lesson in resilience, these last few years. A little proof that humanity can overcome pretty much any unexpected challenge, if needed.

"When she's older and we explain to her how this worked, she's going to laugh so hard." Bellamy suggests, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Clarke grins. "Mummy and daddy used to visit each other by wanking? Yeah. That's not quite like the sex ed we used to have on the Ark, is it?"

"Maybe we just never tell her. Maybe we just stick to that line about _the magic of love_." He offers, tone teasing.

"Yeah. She might never know. I always lock the door."

"I should hope so."

They giggle together for a couple of moments, kissing and touching lazily. Bellamy wonders whether this habit will last once they are reunited on the ground. Will he still feel the need to be touching Clarke every second of every minute of every day? Or will they stop being so tactile, once it is no longer strictly necessary?

He decides that is a concern for another day. Today is for asking about Madi – he's grown rather attached to the girl from Clarke's messages and stories, even though he has yet to actually meet her.

"So did she like the new Odysseus story?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke nods. "Yeah. She loved it. I'm not sure I got it right, though – I couldn't remember whether you'd said they were sheep or goats."

He laughs, only a little hysterically. He thinks probably it's the least of their worries whether Madi's bedtime story featured sheep or goats. Here they are, living the most unconventional long distance relationship, passing stories back and forth to maintain some vague semblance of a family life.

Frankly, he's pretty sure Clarke could make it a story about paunas and it wouldn't matter.

…...

He starts to get nervous, as the end of the five years draws closer. Not because of the flight or the makeshift fuel Murphy is so worried about – if Raven believes they'll get back safely, then he believes it too.

He is nervous instead about what he will find there.

What if Clarke isn't real? What if she died, and he's been losing his mind this whole time? That seems unlikely, thank goodness, because the others have seen and spoken to her a couple of times a week for the last five years.

What if she is real, but their relationship falls apart? What if they don't work when they're together in person? What if she doesn't love him as much as he loves her?

Worst of all, what if she was only ever here out of boredom? Or hunger or thirst or simple loneliness? What if she only went along with this because it was better than being all alone? What if she changes her mind, once they have landed and she has company and options once again?

She knows he's nervous, even when he says nothing. She spoons him tightly, because she knows now that's the best way to comfort him. She holds him close, whispers words of reassurance, says she can't wait to see him soon.

There are things about this arrangement that Bellamy hates. He hates the way she leaves in the night, hates not being able to meet Madi.

But in his fear, he's starting to think he'd happily keep things this way if only it meant their relationship could continue smoothly. Change is rarely positive, in his experience, and he's frightened of what this particular change might bring.

He's scared of losing Clarke before their lives together have truly started.

…...

It all comes spilling out, the night before they are due to head back to Earth. He supposes that's hardly surprising – he's never been good at keeping his emotions bottled up inside. Things always come to a head eventually.

It all starts with a kiss. Clarke is kissing him urgently, and he just can't kiss her back. He's simply frozen with fear.

"What is it?" She asks, pulling away, clasping his hand to her breast as she goes.

Huh. That's good. He's such a mess right now he didn't even think to hold onto her.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" He asks, words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush.

"I'll try to stay like I always do."

"No. I mean – can we stay up, maybe? I just – what if this is our last chance?"

She frowns at him sternly. "You're coming home tomorrow. This is the _opposite_ of our last chance. This is the beginning of our future together."

"You think we'll be OK?"

"I know we'll be OK." She tells him, firm. "If we can make it work for five years apart, I know we'll be great once you're back here. And I know you'll get here safe – I trust Raven."

He nods, slightly mollified. He knows she's speaking sense, but anxiety isn't a rational thing, he has found. He can still feel uncertainty fizzing in the pit of his stomach.

"I love you." She reminds him gently.

"I love you." He echoes, bending to kiss her softly on the lips.

She kisses him back for several long minutes. It's good, the reassuring physical contact gradually loosening some of the knots in his belly. So once he's feeling a little calmer, he seeks out some more physical contact. He starts letting his hands wander, starts kissing the length of her neck and the tops of her breasts.

He's going to take his time with her tonight, he decides. He's going to make it last. Because yes, probably this isn't their last chance. But in his experience, things go wrong when you least expect them. Better to make the most of his time with Clarke while he has the chance, just in case.

He starts by using his mouth for her, coaxing her gently closer and closer to climax until she's writhing against his mouth, sighing his name as she comes. He gives her a moment, then bends in again, thinking to go for another in the same way. Gifting her several orgasms in one night has to be a good idea, right?

It seems she doesn't entirely agree. She tugs gently at his hair, forces him to look her in the eyes.

"You can stop trying so hard." She says, blunt and honest. He has always loved that about her.

"You don't want another?" He asks, half teasing, half deadly serious.

She gives him a small smile. "We both know you're not going to let me go until I've had at least one more. Maybe two. I'm just saying – I'll see you tomorrow. And I love you. So stop trying so hard. Relax and enjoy yourself."

Right. Yes. Relaxing and enjoying himself. He can do that.

He kisses her for a while. That sounds relaxing and enjoyable. And it certainly can't be construed as trying too hard, he's pretty sure. He gives it a few minutes, kissing her deeply, touching her slowly, and then he moves to hover over her.

"This OK?" He asks.

She nods, urges him towards her with the heels of her hands on his hips. And then he's slipping inside of her, taking long, languid strokes as he tries to remember to relax and enjoy himself, take his time instead of trying too hard.

"I love you." She murmurs against his neck. "Love you so much, Bellamy. That feels so good."

"Love you." He echoes. "You're stunning, Clarke. Stunning." He's been stuck on that word ever since she first showed up here, five long years ago, and it seems only fair to say it to her at last.

She giggles, and it comes out breathy. That's what happens, he supposes, when someone tries to giggle during sex.

He keeps it steady, even as he hears her breath start to stutter. It strikes him that this is rather different from that first night they made love. That was pretty fast-paced and desperate, he seems to remember. He recalls a hickey, and some nail marks, and a clash between urgency and wanting the moment to last forever.

This is different. There's a special confidence to their sex life, now. They know what they like and want, but they know how to change it up without embarrassment, too. It's a great combination, and he's grateful for it.

But most of all? Most of all, he's grateful for _Clarke._

He starts to speed up the rocking of his hips, but he keeps it more brisk than truly hurried. He wants to come, but he's not in a rush. He knows that it will be worth waiting for.

Clarke gets there first, kissing him deeply so she's sucking hard at his bottom lip as she comes. That's a new experience, and he likes it. He likes that they're still having new experiences after five years together – it makes the big new experience of tomorrow look a little less daunting.

"I love you." She whispers to him again. For a woman who used to be scared of love, she sure does talk about it a lot, these days.

"I love you." He repeats straight back to her. He thinks he might be addicted to saying the words. "I love you. I love -"

His orgasm catches him by surprise, but in a good way. It's strong as it tears through him, but it lingers a little longer than normal, a warm glow of pleasure that hangs around as he relaxes and sinks down onto Clarke's chest.

He doesn't quite roll off her quickly enough, is enjoying the moment too much to remember to move or touch her in quite the right way. She disappears abruptly, and sends him slamming face-first into the mattress, devastated.

Typical. He's so sick of this half-relationship. Maybe it will be worth facing the uncertainty of tomorrow, he thinks, if it means no more losing Clarke like this.

He rolls onto his back, grabs a pillow and stuffs it almost angrily beneath his head. It's fine. Clarke left. That's what she does – what she has to do.

And yet he doesn't want to let her go. As if on instinct, his hand sinks to his limp cock. She doesn't appear right away, and he can't figure out whether that's because she doesn't want to see him, isn't touching herself, or whether it's because the universe knows he's just come and isn't honestly interested in sex right this second.

He is interested in Clarke though. He's so interested in her it _hurts_.

It takes a couple of minutes for his cock to grow even half-hard in his hand. And then, thank goodness, there's Clarke, standing in the corner of the room with a worried expression on her face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to leave." She says, walking over and joining him on the bed for a cuddle.

"I know. I'm sorry I forgot to keep you here. And then – uh – it took me a while to get it up. You wore me out." He explains, apologetic.

She laughs, a bright, warm sound. "It's OK. I'm back now. And I'm staying." She informs him, as if she has any say in the matter.

He hugs her close, presses a couple of kisses to her hair. He remembers to reach for her breast this time, desperate to keep her here for as long as possible.

"Bring me back in the morning." She requests. "What time are you leaving?"

"Straight after breakfast."

"Then we can sleep in together just for a little while. And then I guess I'll see you on Earth?"

"Sounds good to me." He says, and he thinks it's more or less the truth.

…...

He does invite her back in the morning. They cuddle lazily for an hour or so, before Bellamy admits defeat and acknowledges that it's time for breakfast.

"I'll see you soon." Clarke says.

"Yeah." He agrees weakly.

She vanishes, of course. She always does.

"May we meet again." He whispers to the empty room.

…...

Bellamy has thought a lot about his reunion with Clarke, over the last five years. He's got it planned out, more or less – a searing kiss, then a fierce hug, then an arm slung over her shoulder as he says hello to Madi. Then he'll hold Clarke's hand as they walk to their home together – these are the kind of less-sexual gestures of affection he's not had much chance to share with her, since he went to space.

It doesn't turn out like that, in the end.

Madi reaches him first. She runs out of the treeline, throws herself at him for an enthusiastic hug. At least, he presumes this child is Madi – he's never met her in person, of course, but she matches the description Clarke gave him, and he cannot imagine that there are any other children hanging around here.

"It's great to meet you." He says to the girl. That barely conveys half the excitement and paternal affection he's feeling, but it's a place to start.

Clarke catches up, then. She pecks him swiftly on the cheek, but can't do much more because Madi is still hugging him. And that's fine, really it is. It's almost nice, in a funny kind of way, to be able to just _look_ at Clarke from a couple of paces away without worrying she'll disappear.

But in other ways, it's incredibly strange. He's got used to touching her a lot, these last five years.

There is even more hugging, then. Their other friends join the party, and the clearing is a mess of greetings and embraces. And then they set off back towards the village, and Bellamy finds that he is bundled along by all the energy of those around him, not entirely in the driving seat of his own actions.

But he does seem to be holding Clarke's hand, though. That's progress.

…...

He gets his chance at a proper reunion with Clarke later that afternoon. It seems to be a conspiracy, of sorts – Raven and Emori invite Madi to learn more about the rocket, Murphy and Echo volunteer to hunt, and Monty and Harper want to see the garden.

He's pretty sure none of those things are urgent. But he's not about to say no to some time alone with Clarke. He follows her obediently into the bedroom he is informed is _theirs,_ looks about the place in some confusion.

"You doing alright?" She asks him softly.

He simply has to hug her for that, his heart swelling with warmth and love and joy. Of course she's asking him that – isn't that what they have always done for each other? He folds her into his arms, enjoys taking a long moment simply to inhale the scent of her and share her personal space.

"It's just a lot." He says mildly. "Madi, Earth. You."

"Yeah. But – I hope it's a lot in a good way?"

"The best." He agrees. He's certain of that – more certain than he has ever been of anything else in his life, he thinks.

They hug a bit longer. Bellamy is glad of it – it gives him some time to think, chance to figure out what happens next. He sort of wants to go walk around some flower meadow holding hands with her, like a pathetic romantic fool. He also needs to see what can be done about getting his sister out of the Polis bunker. But he also wants to spend hours getting to know Madi, and go hunt real meat again, and make love to Clarke on the cold forest floor.

"What are you thinking?" She prompts.

"Everything." He gives a nervous laugh. "I can't decide where to start. I want to spend some time just handing out with you. And I want to get to know Madi. And enjoy being on Earth again. And get O out of there. That's enough to start with, right?"

"I know where we're starting." She tells him.

"You do?"

"Yeah. We have babysitters for the afternoon. We're going to make the most of it. It's time for us to make love in my bed for a change. _Our_ bed."

"That does sound fun."

"And after that we're going to go for a walk together. There's this place by the river that's pretty. And then you're going to help Madi cook supper – that's her request. Tomorrow we'll go to Polis."

"You've really got this all planned out."

"Of course I have, Bellamy. It's what I do." She says, teasing.

He kisses her then. He remembers the last time he landed on Earth, and watched Clarke tease him, and wanted to kiss the grin right off her face. And he actually gets to do that, now, and he's determined to make the most of it.

She pulls away from the kiss after a few seconds, leads him by the hand towards the bed. But then she stops, a startled look in her eye, and turns to him.

"We're both dressed." She observes.

"Yeah. I hear naked rocket flights are frowned upon."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "I mean – we're usually naked when I... visit. It just caught me by surprise."

"We can fix that." He assures her, grinning. "You want me to demonstrate? I can take your top off."

"You were a better flirt at the dropship." She teases him affectionately.

"And yet you love me better now."

"Every day I love you even more." She says easily.

He blinks a little, eyes suddenly damp. She really does talk more fluently about her feelings, these days, and he likes that. But sometimes it catches him unawares, has unexpected emotions creeping in.

They undress each other quickly, but not particularly smoothly. They've never practised it before, after all. And when they're naked, they stand about a foot apart, and stare into each other's eyes. That might be because they're both hopelessly lovestruck, Bellamy thinks. Or it might be because they like to challenge each other.

It's Clarke who speaks first. "I feel like we should be doing something exciting and new to celebrate you coming home. But I kind of just want you to get on top and screw me."

He laughs. "That can still be exciting. And it's a new bed, right? That's good enough for me."

It does genuinely feel new and exciting, it turns out. The mattress is a mattress like any other, and staring at a different wall as he thrusts against her doesn't make a whole lot of difference. But the atmosphere between them is different – more relaxed than ever, with more laughter, more burgeoning joy. And Clarke seems to be holding him even tighter than ever, kissing as much of him as she can reach.

It's when she starts digging her nails into his shoulder that he knows she's close.

"You're OK." He tells her, because taking care of each other is what they do. "I've got you. You're OK. I love you."

She sighs as she comes, then reaches up to kiss him soundly on the lips. He shakes his head a little, bats her gently away with his chin. He buries his face in her hair, gives a couple of last, strong thrusts.

And then he's there, too. He's loosely aware of himself crying her name, but he decides that probably doesn't matter. They're the only two people home this afternoon, after all.

He rolls off her slowly, settles in for a close cuddle. Maybe it's habit that makes him hold her tight, or maybe he just loves the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips. Either way, he squeezes her hard against his chest and ducks his head to press a kiss to her cheek.

"I love you." He reminds her. He can never say it too often, he figures.

"I love you too." She echoes, as if the words have always come easily to her.

He squeezes her even tighter, decides to lie here and take a break just for a couple of minutes. They can afford to take a little time before they go set out on their walk, or make supper, or whatever else features in Clarke's master plan.

But within seconds, his peace is interrupted by Clarke's laughter.

"Let me breathe, Bellamy." She says through a giggle. "I'm not going anywhere."

Oh. Yes. That's probably true, now. Perhaps with time he will learn to break the habit of a lifetime, will learn to let go of the fear that she's only ever one mistake away from slipping through his fingers.

Perhaps once they've spent some time living in peace here together, he will come to believe that they have stopped leaving each other at long last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
